


Object of My Obsession

by LadyWithTheLamp2017



Category: Adam Driver RL fanfic
Genre: Adam Driver is kind of a dick, Adam has a temper, Assault, Be Careful What You Wish For, Co-Dependency, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fangirls, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot Twist, Things are never what they seem, fallen idol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWithTheLamp2017/pseuds/LadyWithTheLamp2017
Summary: Sometimes wishes come true late...but be careful what you wish for
Relationships: Adam Driver/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Object of My Obsession

The face was a bit blurry. That could have been because you never wore your glasses to work and the lighting in the Red Lion wasn't the greatest. But you were almost sure it was him. At least ninety-nine percent sure. After all, you should know that face intimately by now. It had stared down at you in various roles from posters on your bedroom wall since you were in high school. Still, this was the city where doppelgangers of famous people were not unheard of and this guy was sitting at one of your tables. The chances of it actually being him were slim to none. Still, you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You had to make sure. 

You sauntered up and laid the cocktail napkin down on the table in front of him, keeping your eyes lowered. You knew the routine; if it was him he wouldn't be the first celebrity you had waited on. But he would be the first and only one you had ever obsessed over. However, in your experience most of them disliked being recognized by fans.

"What can I get you, sir?" you asked politely, then lifted your eyes to meet his.

It was all you could do not to draw in your breath sharply. It was him. There was no mistake about it; older than when you had seen him last, in that overwrought, emotion packed drama he had made a few years ago. The circles under the eyes, the lines bracketing his mouth, and the sagging jawline were new, although they could not conceal the handsome face that you and your girlfriends had swooned over some twenty years ago. He only met your eyes briefly then glanced down again at the napkin you placed on the table, a furrow appearing between his brows. So he wants to remain anonymous. Funny, he had not employed most of the tricks celebrities used to hide their identities. No ball cap, no hoodie, no dark glasses although one hardly needed them in here. You could entertain his notions then. Although it did strike you as a little on the naive side.

You waited patiently, not saying a word, not giving away by one bat of your eyelash or quirk of your lips that you knew who he was.

Finally he spoke, and if those expressive amber eyes, dark wavy hair slightly streaked with gray, hawkish nose, and plush kissable lips didn't give him away, that deep voice with the Midwestern accent clinched it for you.

"Bourbon, neat."

You kept your voice steady. "Top shelf?"

"Sure," he replied softly, as if it really didn't matter.

You lifted your brows. "Right away," you replied, still being deferential to him. You soundly congratulated yourself on maintaining your cool in the face of this unexpected onslaught. But inside your chest, your heart was pounding violently. You just couldn't believe it.

Of course it had been years since you last seen him in a movie. You had been a fan of his ever since that quirky HBO television show he had done with Lena Dunham. You'd have thought starring in one of the biggest movie franchises of all time would have cemented his fame, and it did. For a while. Until that scandal 10 years ago...

As you made your way to the bar and circled around it, the bartender, Sal, looked at you oddly. You reach for the bottle of Eagle Rare on the top shelf and a glass. As you thoughtfully poured a measure of the liquor, you became aware of Sal standing at your elbow.

"Who the hell just ordered Eagle Rare?" he asked.

You didn't look at him, merely shrugged. "It's for the guy at the corner table," you replied nonchalantly.

"Nobody ever orders that stuff. Too fucking expensive. I don't even know why we keep it," Sal observed. His eyes flicked over to your customer. Sal obviously didn't recognize him. "He somebody to you?"

Your heart nearly flipped over in your chest as you looked up and stared at the man sitting at your table. You took a deep breath and said, "Bite me, Sal."

Sal raised his eyebrows, glancing at your patron and then at you again. "Just don't start any shit, hey?"

You smiled as you picked up the glass. "Sal, this is shit I can handle," you stated softly over your shoulder.

He looked up at you as you approached the table and you nearly lost your footing. suddenly self-conscious of the so-called "uniform" you had to wear at the Red Lion Lounge, you lowered your eyes modestly. In fact, that was the only modest thing about you. You were only too aware of his eyes sweeping you from head to foot once as you set his glass on the table.

Black lace booty shorts over black fishnet tights, a red cropped top, also of lace, and the most ridiculously high stilettos you'd ever worn. Still, truth be told it was probably the sexiest and nicest thing you owned to wear.

"Thanks," he replied quietly and discreetly placed a twenty in your palm as you withdrew your hand.

Your eyes met as your hands brushed and there was an undeniable spark of electricity between the two of you. Or maybe it was just your imagination, wishful thinking. Whatever it was, it made you pause while he took the first sip of his drink. He set it back down without saying a word, completely oblivious to the fact that you had just served him bourbon from a four hundred dollar bottle that was over seventeen years old.

You slipped the twenty into your pocket and started to walk away when his hand, large and warm, grabbed yours and your eyes went round with alarm.

"Wait." The simple command from his mouth was like a spell cast over you, petrifying you in place. Suddenly, as if realizing what he had done, he released your hand as quickly as he had grabbed it. "Sorry. Would you mind...terribly...uh, just bringing the bottle over?"

A brief frown furrowed your brow, then you recovered yourself, trying hard not to tremble from his touch. "Ah sure," you replied. "I mean...not to be too crass but it's...uh...four seventy-five. For the bottle."

"It's fine," he said, waving away your concern, returning his attention to the glass in front of him.

You nodded. "O-kay then," you said as you made your way back to the bar. You took down the bottle of bourbon, ignoring Sal's questioning stare, and sashayed back over to the Quiet Man. You huffed a little in amusement...it was the perfect John Wayne analogy.

When you returned, he looked up at you briefly, almost shyly, and reached for the bottle, but you were quicker. You took his now empty glass and refilled it, setting it and the bottle down. "Please, let me know if I can get you...anything else," you said politely. But inwardly you cringed at how awkward you sounded. 

At your respective ages, how could he still make you feel like a starry-eyed girl? You had lingered too long and were overstepping the clearly set invisible boundary. Still...

***

You used to wonder what you would do if you ever met him in the flesh. In fact at one time it was all you and your best girlfriends had ever talked about: "What would you do if you ever met Adam Driver?" and then they would collapse into girlish giggles as they fabricated unlikely scenarios and conversations with their idol. You and they had been the vestal virgins of Adam Driver. You even had a huge poster of him from Girls on your bedroom wall...he watched you as you slept.

Once you did get to see him. Twenty-five rows back at the Hudson Theater where he he was starring in a play called Burn This. You and your girlfriends had nearly swooned the moment he burst onto stage as Pale, gripping each other's hands, totally mesmerized by his performance. After the play you had all gathered at the stage door in hopes of getting him to sign your playbill and maybe take a selfie with you. It was a long-shot you knew, especially when you saw the number of other females gathered there. Your heart sank when he never appeared.

So you went the next night, and the next. Finally, on the third night, your perseverance paid off...or so you thought. You remembered too well the three big goons in overcoats...Adam Driver's "handlers".... and how they had none too gently prevented you reaching their goal.

You recalled saying something like, "Adam! I'm such a huge fan! I loved your performance...!"

But he looked preoccupied that night, strained and angry even, rebuffing even the simple request for all but a few autographs, shoving his way through the crowd of fans and getting into his waiting car and driving away. You cried all the way home on the train that night, painfully disillusioned by his seeming callousness. 

But determined to get some closure, you decided to write a letter and send it in care of his agent. You were so sure you wouldn't hear back. Even your girlfriends called you crazy. You had enclosed your ticket stubs from the play and a copy of a selfie you'd taken in front of the theater.

It was weeks later before an envelope arrived and enclosed was a Burn This playbill, autographed by the man himself and two tickets to the premier of his latest movie in four weeks! There was even a letter with his unique letterhead, and your heart almost imploded. A handwritten letter, for Christ's sake!

Oh, you had nearly melted!

The letter simply said he apologized for hurrying off, but he'd had to get back to his hotel room where he was awaiting news on his mother who was very ill. He certainly hoped you forgave him.

You traced the scrawled signature at the bottom of the letter with one loving fingertip. You weren't able to go to the premier because of school commitments, but you treasured those tickets, the playbill, and the letter forever.

Eventually life happened and school ended as did the carefree innocence of those days. The souvenirs of the heady Adam Driver days were tucked away in tissue to become a fading memory. 

After your graduation, you moved out of your parents' house, you met a guy... seemed nice enough. You allowed him to take you out and you even felt flattered when he pushed you up against the wall of your new apartment and kissed you breathless. He wasn't as tall as Adam, but he kissed you the way you imagined Adam kissed...the way you'd seen him kiss in all his movies, and you liked that. So, you let things go even further.

Eventually you moved in together...and for nearly three years lived in a small, cracker box house in a lower-middle class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. In the second year of your relationship you found out you were pregnant and the ultrasound revealed a fetal malformation. That's when lover man took off for the hills, never to be seen or heard from again. Apparently, a girlfriend and a special needs child were too much reality for him.

You did not put up a fuss, was even glad to see him go. It was tedious being married to someone you had to pretend was another person just to get off.

You vowed "never again".

So, eleven years after your breakup here you were working in a dive because you had never finished college, had never even learned a trade. Andrew's doctor bills piled up but eventually got paid. Until the next time his immune system acted up and you once again found yourselves in the local ER...your heart constricted thinking of your boy. He was almost twelve now but seemed much younger.

Thank goodness you were only thirty-eight; you still had your figure and good looks and the tips in these places were alright if you knew just how to flirt without coming off as a slut. You were an expert at it by now...

***

As you looked at Adam now, you thought of how you used to pretend he was the one you were making it with each time that sperm donor that fathered Andrew had touched you. You smiled at him and banished those thoughts with a slight shake of your head.

"Don't worry," came the deep, rich voice. "I promise I won't tear the place up." He gestured to the bottle of bourbon...as if that were the reason for your lingering. "I'm just trying to...uh, forget some shit. For the time being."

"Ah, well," I said with the barest hint of a smile. "Sometimes it's just best to let the past die. Kill it if you have to."

His eyes narrowed, then a tiny second-cousin to a smile appeared on his lips. "Ohhhh...you know who I am then."

It was more a statement than a question. It was kind of sad the way he said it though, as if his future happiness depended upon your affirmation of his identity. After all it had been several years since his last film, which had not been a huge success ever since the scandal with his co-star ten years earlier. 

You straightened and looked him in the eye. "What do you mean? I was quoting something from Star Wars."

Adam Driver nearly choked on his drink. He was already on to your game. "I know. I said it."

You gave him a quizzical look. "You were in Star Wars?" you asked dubiously.

He just gave you a look...a Charlie Barber look.

You laughed and shook your head. "Nah...nice try but I would have remembered you."

He laughed outright then, lifting the glass to his lips. You watched him take another sip, knowing you should turn and walk away but just as you started to do exactly that, his voice stopped you.

"Sit down."

It wasn't a command or even a request....more like an invitation. Warm and sincere, like he was inviting you into his home. You did a double take. Then your gaze skittered over to the bar where Sal watched you with arms crossed. Mentally you shrugged and slid into the seat across from him.

Adam toyed idly with the glass in front of him. "So you remember a random ass line from a twenty year old movie?"

Your smile was more genuine this time as your eyes took on a faraway look. "I remember a lot more than that line."

Now he was Flip Zimmerman, looking at you dubiously as if he was trying to figure you out. Damn him, they weren't lying all those years ago when they said Adam Driver could ferret out the real you if he chose. You wondered if he could see the poster of Adam Sackler on your bedroom wall and you, busily masturbating to it while he said perverted, sexy shit in your head.

The thought sobered you and you became serious as you said, "Actually, I was just messing with you earlier. I was actually...a pretty big fan of yours. I saw all your movies." You bit your lip as you added, "I saw you in Burn This too."

Adam's eyes danced. "Oh yeah...?" 

You couldn't tell if he was really interested or just being polite. But you had this opportunity dropped in your lap and God only knew if it would ever happen again. So you launched into your poor, pathetic little story of the three night stand, how hurt you were, the letter you wrote...and the things you got back in return. It all came pouring out of your mouth and the entire time, Adam just sat there across from you, listening. Not even drinking, just staring at you and seemingly taking in every word you said.

When you finished, you sat back, hardly believing you had said all those things to him. Your eyes looked everywhere but at him until finally you looked up and noticed a party of three sitting down at one of your tables. Sal's eyes burned into the back of your head.

You started to slowly slide out of your seat and stand. The sound of Adam's voice froze you to the spot.

"I'm sorry."

You looked at him sharply. "What?" you asked, startled.

Adam was looking pleadingly into your eyes. He was Sackler now. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

You couldn't be more stunned. Your mouth slowly dropped and you were at a loss for words. You shook your head slightly, frowning, then smiling. "It's fine," you laughed breathlessly. "I was eighteen. I got over it."

His dark eyes were searching yours and for the first time that night you felt a little uncomfortable. You started to rise again. "Um, I gotta go wait on those folks. So..." I also got a phone bill, rent to pay, and a sick kid but maybe I can sell your autograph for a buck or two.

You turned to go but Adam put a staying hand on yours. "Wait", he pleaded. "When do you get off?"

Impossible, you thought. He can't be coming on to you. Twenty years later, after your life had gone to shit, Adam Driver wants to take you to bed. Why couldn't it have happened when it would have meant something?

"I really can't...uh..." you stammered. "I have a kid at home..."

He wasn't giving up. "Look", he said tightening his hold on you hand. "If you can't do it tonight, I understand. But can I at least have your number? I think it would be nice to spend some time with an old friend while I have some free time...uh..." He looked down at the check where you had signed your name with a flourish, 'thank you! Alicia' then back up at you, "....uh Alicia."

An old friend? you thought. I was twenty-five rows back the last time I saw you. You were rushing away to your car and I was left standing there holding the playbill. We were friends?

But what the hell. "Sure Mr. Driver. Whatever." You tore a piece off a blank guest check and wrote your name and phone number down and handed it to him, sure it would end up in the trash by the end of the evening. "Have a good evening, sir."

Then you walked away before he could say anything else more and made your way over to the table of customers who looked like they would die if they didn't get a drink.

The last thing you thought to yourself before trying to forget about your brief encounter with Adam Driver was, Wait 'til I tell the girls...

***

You didn't forget that bizarre encounter, in fact it weighed heavily on your mind for days. You looked up at the entrance to the Red Lion every time someone walked in, just on the off chance it was him. You shook your head as you gathered dirty glasses onto a round tray. It was a one-off thing, you told yourself. In fact as the day and nights passed, you started to wonder if you'd dreamed up the whole thing. The twenty he'd given you was still in the inside pocket of your purse. Sometimes you sniffed it but it didn't smell like much of anything...just money. You sighed and stuffed it in your cookie jar. You were saving for a rainy day.

Then one night, the Tylenol PM you had taken had just kicked in when you were suddenly jarred out of a half-sleep by the urgent ringtone and vibration of your phone. Cursing for not placing it on silence, you swept your hair out of your face, sitting up.

Muttering drowsily, and hoping it wouldn't wake Andrew, you answered it...and heard a semi-familiar voice, a little drunk-sounding, coming from the other end.

"Alic-i-a," he drawled, pronouncing the second "i" in your name like "ee". He laughed, a little breathlessly, then sobered. "I'm sorry...did I wake you, doll?"

You felt a little flutter at the sound of his voice, then an inexplicable annoyance. Why couldn't this have happened twenty years ago when it would have meant so much more...?

"Adam Driver", she said with a little ironic laugh. Adam fucking Driver was calling you at...you glanced down at your phone...three o'clock in the morning. "It's three AM. I just got off work like, two hours ago."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he laughed. "I guess I didn't bother looking at the clock. I just found your number and thought why don't I give that girl a call?"

You were starting to smile. "Are you drunk or something?"

"Nah," he said. "Maybe. A little." He giggled.

It made you smile even bigger, that familiar laugh that you'd heard so many times in movies, interviews and TV shows, but hearing it now in your ear, so intimate and...personal, was on a whole other level. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

"So," you said, plumping a pillow, preparing for a long conversation. "What's on your mind?"

"I was kinda hoping we could do something," he said. "You know go out, maybe have dinner..." he trailed off into hopeful silence.

Pitiful. After a moments' hesitation you said, "Sure Adam...dinner would be great. My next night off is Wednesday. Why don't you call me then?"

"You mean it? Oh, babe that'd be great. Thanks. You don't know what this means to me...life's been tough babe...."

He talked on and on about some scripts he'd looked at and rejected, others he found promising. And you wondered why you had been chosen as his sounding board. Not that you were complaining. It struck you as odd, that's all...but maybe all those years of using him as your fantasy entitled him to something.

Leaning back against the pillows, you listened and commiserated as Adam went on and on about the business, about failed career projects, failed romances, fewer and fewer movie deals. When he wasn't acting, he produced. 

But ever since that "God damned asshole" got himself killed on the set of a movie they were shooting together, his career had taken a nose dive. It was tragic, yes, but why should that have affected his, Adam's, career? The one question that was burning on your tongue you dared not ask. You'd heard about Adam Driver's monumental temper and you just assumed not fan the flames...

You talked about his past roles, which ones you liked best, your favorite lines of his, and you made him laugh more than once with your criticisms and observations which you didn't think were all that profound. He seemed to like them though...and you.

"Nobody remembers that shit anymore babe..." he whispered. "Nobody but you..."

You laughed softly, feeling uneasy. That wasn't true and you knew it. But you humored him. "I'll could never forget you."

His soft, yearning half-moan, half growl that followed your statement sent your heart careening and your brain short circuiting. You let him talk and talk...about everything until he passed out on the phone and when you could hear the soft snores of a sleeping drunk you quietly ended the call. It was six o'clock in the morning.

Time to get Andrew ready for school.

***

"Maybe you should start charging him," Sal joked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the corner table where Adam camped out waiting on you to get off work. The same table at which he had sat no less than a half dozen times in the past month since you had met. In fact, your co-workers began calling him your "monogamous john".

You sighed. "I don't play that game, Sal." Not that your other co-workers didn't.

"Never said you did...but even therapists charge for a session. Ain't you like a shrink to him or something?"

"Some things aren't about money, Sal", you replied, thinking of Burn This and that letter with the ticket. And using him as her personal fantasy for so many years.

Sal shook his head, wryly. "Well if you ain't hard up for money then maybe you should take off early. It's dead in here tonight."

You saw Adam's slumped figure straighten and his face light up when he heard Sal's words. You groaned under you breath, "Thanks a lot Sal."

Sal chuckled and winked.

An hour later you and Adam sat over plates of spaghetti and glasses of vino in a small Italian restaurant. You noted Adam consumed more vino than spaghetti. He seemed preoccupied tonight, texting someone furiously every now and then with a grimace.

You mentally went over the past four weeks and the handful of times you and he had gone out. The first date ended with Adam trying to get fresh with whiskey on his breath and hands groping under your blouse on your doorstep. But Andrew lay innocently sleeping down the hall, so you had pushed the actor out the door where he landed on your front stoop with a heavy thud.

He was gone in the morning. You thought that would be the end of it but no, he called you that night from an unknown number and apologized profusely, saying he didn't know what had come over him that night, that he liked you a lot, and asked if he could see you again...it would be different. He promised. You refused at least three times before he wore you down.

Ironically the one answer that you would never have given him twenty years ago was the one that worked the charm.

It was different. He didn't get drunk this time and when the date ended and he was standing with you on the front stoop of your tiny bungalow he suddenly enveloped you in his arms and held you, very tenderly, in a needy sort of way. You had not been able to resist, nor were you used to this kind of treatment. Andrew was sleeping over at your girlfriend's house with her boys, so you gently pulled Adam into the house with you.

You grasped his head in your hands and pushed your fingers through his still-full, still-silky hair, remembering how so many times you had dreamed of doing this. Adam grasped your hips firmly in his hands, his hungry grunt like an animal about to feast. He moved down over your neck, kissing and sucking the tender flesh there while you gasped in excitement.

You barely got the door to your bungalow open and the two of you fell inside, Adam's lips never leaving your fevered flesh. You felt his hands pulling at and lifting the short red sheath you wore, pushing it up and over your hips.

Suddenly he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands running up your nylon encased thighs. He nipped your navel and when he ripped open the hose and panties you wore, you gave a little cry of surprise....and dismay. 

But when he put his mouth where moments before had been nylon and lace, you forgot everything. For all his seeming co-dependency, which was a bit scary you had to admit, this was one area where Adam did not disappoint. You had never had it this good...you let out a small scream as he pushed you over the edge into unimagined pleasure.

You never even made it to the bedroom. He stood up and you yanked the red sheath off and pulled him down to the floor beside you. You helped him out of his jeans and the button-down he wore and then rolled on top of him. His face half in shadow, he looked like a lost little boy, like you were about to take his innocence from him. It threw you off. How? How did he manage to look like that when his lips and chin and the stubble on his face still glistened with the wetness from your orgasm?

You were starving too...bracing your hands on his shoulders, you lowered yourself onto his rock hard cock, moaning loudly as you did, your knees pumping as you fulfilled a long-time fantasy. It felt so good. Too good. He cried when he came inside you. Actual fucking tears. God damn...

"Oh, baby...baby...," he whimpered when it was over, his fingers skating over your naked back.

You lay there, listening to Adam's heartbeat slowly decrease its rapid rate. You stared out into the room at your crumpled red dress, Adam's designer jeans and shirt, your torn hose, his shoes, your heels all scattered across the rug, and wondered what the hell had just happened. What had you started?

You made it back to your bedroom and Adam was evidently good for another round. He pushed you down on the bed, the choir boy with the chocolate eyes gone, his hands moving over your body as if he owned it, jerking your knees up and apart. You pulled him down for another kiss and he eagerly complied, kissing your lips, nipping your chin and neck and working his way down to your breasts.

You wrapped your legs invitingly around his waist and he drove into you, stretching and filling you so completely, you gasped and let out a sharp cry. Adam didn't stand on ceremony, that was for sure. Once he knew you were into it, he took what he wanted.

As he grunted and strained on top of you, you imagined the sexy fiend he had once portrayed...you looked into his eyes and saw Sackler, Flip, Charlie, Kylo Ren and felt guilty when it all sent you over the edge again. You screamed his name...you weren't even sure which name. But whatever you shouted, it spurred him on and he fucked you into oblivion.

Ooooh, Adam ,yes...yes...YES!

You came harder than you ever had in her life, scoring your nails down his back and almost laughing with the relief and pleasure of it. Finally....finally... 

He liked the kinky stuff, and you indulged him though you were a little hesitant at first, more than once allowing him to put you into positions you had never even known existed and even letting him handcuff your hands to the headboard (God only knew where he had gotten handcuffs).

He like the lingerie too...the skimpy little lace nothings you would wear to excite him, even though they all ended up getting ripped to shreds. He was an animal. It was so good though, giving him a little pleasure and taking what he had to give you in return. He was depressed, you sensed and besides, you did owe him...all those years...

He called you his toy, his fuck doll, his slave. You never protested. You breathlessly agreed with everything he said and did. His large hands and those mesmerizing eyes made sure you did.

Once he had slapped you...just the once...and it jarred you, made you see stars. When you had recovered your senses and slapped him back just as hard, he had merely grinned at you in that sloppy, boyish way and grabbed your face and kissed you. He never struck you again.

Now a month later you studied the aging actor sitting across the table from you in this tiny, hole-in-the-wall place and wondered where his mind was tonight. You were dying to ask...so many questions. Unbeknownst to him, your curiosity had spurred you to Google that decade-old scandal. The film was an indie foreign film...you'd actually been excited for it. Then, after an actor's mysterious death due to "over-intoxication", it had been shelved, filming ceased, and the cast and crew dismissed. You didn't get much more than that. 

You didn't know what to make of it all, and it frustrated you. It didn't make sense. 

Adam still wore his wedding band but you had vaguely recalled hearing that his marriage had fallen apart years ago. When you tried to broach that subject he became angry and told you it was none of your business. Then, as if regretting his harsh tone, he had resorted to the only thing he knew to do to make up...kissing and fucking you.

He signaled to the waitress for more wine, then caught you looking at him.

He smiled that same sheepish grin he had given you the night you met. "Sorry, Ally. I'm not very good company tonight. I got some problems...big problems."

Your gaze did not waver. "I wouldn't know. You never talk to me about it." you stated flatly with a shrug. You knew him so well and yet not at all.

He lowered his eyes to the checkered tablecloth, and he toyed with the stem of his wineglass. "Because I don't want to scare you off", he murmured, looking at the wine in his glass.

You sighed and decided to just plunge ahead. "Adam is this about your wife...or is it about Sean Holden...?"

His dark eyes snapped up to your at the mention of his dead co-star. His tone was reproachful with an undercurrent of warning. "Ally, what I have I told you about..."

You held up your hands in surrender. "Forget it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cross the line." You swallowed hard, trying to diffuse the situation. "But, you won't scare me off. If you ever...want to talk about it."

It was pointless to argue with him, you knew. It would never end. Maybe he would get lucky and sign a new movie deal, make a comeback...then you would never see him again.

Several times you had been on the verge of showing him your collection, the mementoes of your youthful obsession with him. You still had the souvenirs from that time tucked away somewhere, perhaps in the attic, of your tiny bungalow. Maybe someday you would show it to him...before he left you.

You and he went back to your place and sex that night lacked its usual kinkiness. He held to you desperately and kissed your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids as if he could not get enough of you.

Somewhere in the middle of it all he rasped in your ear, "I love you baby...I love you so much..."

You closed your eyes. God help you, he probably did. He could probably see the image of himself from twenty years ago in your eyes whenever he fucked you. He held you tightly afterwards and you couldn't sleep for the thoughts whirling in your brain.

He knew it. His hand stroked languidly up and down your bare back. Suddenly he spoke in your ear. "Ally?" he said, his deep, sexy voice somehow managing to sound soft and vulnerable in the dark. 

You swallowed hard. "Yes, Adam?"

He sighed. "You're never gonna stop thinking about it, are you?'

I frowned, playing with the idea of pretending I didn't know what he was talking about. "You mean about Sean? Or...?"

"I never meant to...the things he said about Jo and..." You felt his hands tighten on your arms as he remembered. "I want you to know, I want you to understand what happened."

You dared not stir a muscle, your eyes wide open, staring through the sheer curtains of your bedroom window that diffused the streetlight outside. "I'm listening, Adam," you whispered.

His hands moved softly up and down your skin. "He was drunk, I was too, I think. I don't know what his fucking problem was but when he started in on...Jo, I couldn't stop myself. I think I blacked out. There wasn't anyone around but me and him. I hit him. Pretty hard." Adam sighed heavily. "They said he had a concussion and a broken jaw when they found him."

You had stopped breathing and was listened in horror to this story. You wanted him to stop and yet you wanted him to go on because you had to know. You said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"What else could I do?" he asked you plaintively. "Bastard wouldn't shut up. I warned him about running his mouth." Adam's hand suddenly came under your chin and he forced your head up so that you would have to look at him. His eyes glimmered in the dark searching your face. "Ally, listen to me baby, I did not mean to kill him."

His words, dropped into your ears like leaden weights, made your heart constrict in fear and denial. "Adam..." you breathed. You didn't know what to say.

You tried to look away, but his hand tangled in your hair forcing your head still. His dark eyes stared intensely into yours. No quarter, no escape.

"Does it change how you see me?"

You couldn't speak. What exactly did he expect you to say? It wasn't murder, you think they called it manslaughter. But the fact remained he had done it and nothing had been done about it all those years ago. It had been hushed up, swept under the rug, the media and everyone at large believing that Sean Holden had merely slipped while drunk and hit his head, resulting in the concussion that had killed him. And here you were, lying in bed with the one and only man who knew the truth about what had happened, and it felt so dirty.

But what could you say to him? Softly, you murmured, "No, it doesn't change how I see you."

He let out a breath he had been holding and pressed your head down against his chest, blessedly breaking that intense eye contact. 

He left before you awoke the next morning. When you saw him again, you were getting off work that night. He seemed in good spirits.

"I've been offered a role," he declared kissing your cheek. "We start filming in North Carolina next month. It's the Ballad of Frankie Silver. I play Charlie Silver."

You raised my eyebrows. You had read the book and was familiar with the story. "The husband of Frankie?" Not a very large role as the whole story centered around the title character's trial for murdering her husband. Still, it was a pivotal one you thought you could see Adam playing very well. "That's great. It's a great story..."

He was smiling. "Be nice to get away for a few weeks. Get that bitch investigator off my back." 

It was the first time he had mentioned "the bitch" on his back. "Investigator, Adam?" you asked in a panic. You couldn't help yourself.

He shook his head, waving away your concern. "Investigative reporter, I should say. Her name's Natalie Winters. Works for that creep Addison Grey and his shit rag, Disculture. She's trying to get the case of Sean Holden reopened. She's fucking convinced there was a coverup."

You felt like a hundred arrows just pierced my gut. "Oh shit, Adam..."

"Fuck her...I got my lawyer on it." He smiled at you sweetly. "He's talking with that fucker, Addison about getting his little girl off my ass." His eyes had that adorable boyish glow, so at odds with the situation. He bumped your forehead with his own and kissed your nose. "Nothing for you to worry about, doll." 

His warm voice washed over you like soothing oil, and you wondered, not for the first time, if he was quite all there and it made you feel inexplicably trapped.

You let him take you in his arms and hold you tightly. It was then that you felt something rectangular and stiff in his jacket pocket. You frowned up at him.

He smiled wryly and withdrew the long white envelope for you to see. "Sometimes a little cash payoff helps sweeten the negotiations." He grimaced as if tasting something bad and cursed quietly under his breath. "I didn't think it would come to this but it's better to be prepared, I guess."

You frowned up at him in worry. "Adam, is that what your lawyer advised?"

He looked down unhappily. "No," he admitted. "This was my own idea. Based on what I know about Addison Grey's character. I have a feeling the meeting with him won't be pretty...he'll probably want more..."

"Adam," you said urgently, "wouldn't it just be better to come clean?"

His eyes widened and you saw a hint of anger flash in them. "Come clean? Come clean about what, Alicia?" His voice grew in volume. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

You flinched and backed up. "Forget it," you said timidly. You glanced out your kitchen window towards the neighbor's house where you knew Andrew was playing, blissfully unaware, with the neighbors' children. Your heart constricted. "Please, just forget I said anything."

"I shouldn't have told you," he murmured quietly. "I knew it would weigh on your mind."

He took a step towards you, and you instantly stepped back. He stopped and looked at you as if in bewilderment. "Ally?" he asked, his voice soft and enticing and pleading at the same time. "You're not scared are you? You know I would never hurt you, don't you?"

He reached for you and you let him envelop you in his arms, even though every fiber of your being was crying out to be released from this dangerous situation. He buried his face in your hair and it muffled his voice when he spoke, but you could still hear every word reverberated against your skull.

"I told you I love you. And I do. I don't want anything to happen to you, to us. Please tell me you believe me." He drew back to look deeply into your eyes, his large hands bracket in your face holding it still, immobile.

Too quickly, too eagerly, you replied, "Of course, Adam!" Your hands came up to grip his wrists, your thumbs stroking the tops of his hands that held your face. "I love you too. I know you would never hurt me. It's just..." Your face crumpled and you could no longer hold in your emotions. "It's just... This is all so overwhelming! So confusing! I don't know where this is going and I don't know the right thing to say or do!" You burst into uncontrollable crying then, and shame washed over you as you had no way to cover your face.

"Baby..." Adam murmured, thumbing away your tears and gently kissing your forehead. "I'm sorry, baby. You're so fucking innocent..." His hands were caressing your wet, tear tracked face now. "It's what I love about you. You're so normal, so unspoiled." His forehead rested against yours. "It's what told me I could trust you, Alicia. You're so crazy in love with the idea of fucking me, I could tell the first night we met."

You gazed up at him in shock and embarrassment. Humiliation washed over you if you began to shake your head. "Adam, that's...I didn't... I mean..."

He gave you his signature boyish smile, still holding your face in his hands, looking at you as if you were the most adorable thing in the world. It did not please you. In fact, it made you feel small and insignificant.

"Don't be embarrassed by it, Alicia," he said, his voice deep, coaxing, and seductive. "I've never fucked a fan before. Never wanted to until now. Something about you that night...I like the way you acted like you were the one doing me the favor. Sycophants get old fast."

Your mouth dropped in shock at his words as you realized Adam had maneuvered you backwards towards the counter, trapping you. And now he was lifting you up to sit on it in front of him, insinuating himself between your legs. His smile was predatory and charming all at once. His hands, large, warm, and possessive, snaked up and down your torso before sliding underneath your crop top and grasping your breasts.

"Wait!" you cried. "Adam, that's not..."

"Did you know you're pretty when you cry?" he asked huskily. He kissed the tears on your cheeks. "Makes me so fucking hard for you..." he laughed a little. "God, I'm such a monster...and you're all I want, you poor baby."

His words sent chills down your spine. "Adam...please..."

His lips over yours cut your words off. He quite literally took your breath away from you as he possessed your mouth, working it open with his lips while he held your head still in his hands. Instinctively your knees rose up on either side of him, your legs clasping around his hips and your pelvis tilting upward and silent supplication. And you hated yourself for being so susceptible even when he was being a total dick to you.

Adam groaned his approval against your mouth, furthering your humiliation. But Adam didn't give you much time to ponder the feeling before he was reaching between your legs and pulling your underwear aside. You moaned in pleasure as his fingers took possession of you, invading your body like a marauding army, his breath shallow and rapid in your face as he finger fucked you. Your hands tangled in his hair and you dragged him to you for another kiss while he played in your soaking wet pussy.

He murmured in your ear as he twisted and turned his fingers inside you, "See? You want it so bad...you'd do anything for it, wouldn't you?"

You gave in, like you had done for the last couple months with him. Against your better judgement, you let him fuck you right there on your kitchen counter and once again, you saw stars as he pushed you over the threshold of your pleasure limit. You were his "sopping little mess". He grinned into your hair as he called you that. Holding like a baby, talking to you like you were a fuck toy. 

Nevertheless, you clung to him. And when he suggested you come with him to North Carolina, you mutely agreed even though you knew it was never going to happen. He left you shortly after, kissing you goodbye like a husband going off to work. The normality of it unnerved you. 

It was your day off and you decided to clean house. It had been a while since the little bungalow had seen a good thorough cleaning. You made sure Drew was properly occupied with his favorite activity, coloring, before you got started. Kissing the top of your boy's head, you ruffled his golden locks lovingly...and then stopped short.

A familiar-looking white envelope was lying under the kitchen chair where Adam always hung his jacket when he stayed over. You flushed red when you realized it must have fallen out of his pocket when he was fucking you. You reached under the chair and picked it up, Adam's passport to freedom from this Natalie Winters...or so he thought.

Might as well see how deep in he was....

Against your better judgement, you ripped open the flap and gasped when you pulled out a thick stack of bills hundreds...and two signed and notarized documents. Staring at them you realized you were looking at statements from two of Adam's colleagues from the set of that ill-fated movie, swearing under oath that he had been with them at the time of Sean Holden's death. Son of a bitch...a get out of jail free card, essentially.

But what really caught your eye was Adam's own signature, scrawled at the bottom. A sick feeling came over you along with a cold resolve.

***

Hours later the phone was ringing shrilly. Andrew was outside in his sandbox. The house was still a mess. Your box of Adam Driver memorabilia was scattered across the coffee table, including the sighed playbill and the letter...that God damned letter.

You sat on the sofa, listening numbly to the ringing, and let it go to voicemail. You knew who it was...but you listened to the message all the same.

"Alicia...," came the urgent voice of the actor over the phone. "Alicia, it's Adam. Pick up baby. I'm in trouble. Remember the envelope I showed you yesterday? Well I forgot it there at your place...Please pick up and tell these guys you got it and what's in it! The fucking police are here in Addison's office. They're questioning me. Please baby...I know it's your day off...this is important..."

Another voice abruptly came on that put her in mind of a thirties film noir, and said, "Yeah lady...real important."

You suddenly picked up the phone and dialed the number on your caller ID. An unfamiliar male voice answered.

"Addison Grey, editor in..."

"Let me speak to Adam," you interrupted.

There was some shuffling and then Adam's voice in your ear. "Ally, sweetheart, thank God..."

"Adam I don't see any envelope. I don't know what you're talking about."

A dead silence.

"Please Ally, just look!" Adam finally pleaded. "For God's sake, please look I know it's there...Ally? Ally! Answer me baby...please! They're gonna arrest me for suspicion of murder. Do you understand, doll? I need you...Ally...Ally!"

You could still hear him calling you name as you quietly ended the call.

"ALLYYYYYY!"

Click. Silence.

You sat holding the envelope in your lap. It wasn't about the money really, although you could certainly use cool half million that was there. Some things aren't about money. It was the autographs.

Lying on the coffee table before you were the affidavits written in Adam's own hand signed by himself and trusted, loyal friends; next to them lay the Burn This playbill from twenty years earlier, autographed to a starry-eyed girl in love with Pale.

The two autographs were totally different. She didn't know who had signed the playbill, but it hadn't been Adam. She had treasured a fraud for twenty years.

So, you really hadn't owed Adam Driver a damned thing. You owed yourself a lot of years. And he owed society a debt. You wondered if the money in the envelope would be enough to pay all Andrew's medical bills. Maybe even pay for you to got to trade school. You were tired of waiting tables.


End file.
